Bartre > Snowe
"Come on, you gotta help me out here!"
Erk sighed as his oafish castmate kept loudly pleading in his ear for assistance. "You're not going to go away, are you?"
Bartre, pleased at finally getting any sort of response from the irate made, grinned widely, "Of course not! Real men never quit once they set their mind on something!"
"...right." His headache growing worse by the moment, Erk decided that it was probably just for the best for him to answer Bartre's questions, "Look, you want to know how I managed to claim a championship in light, yes?"
"Yeah!"
"I accomplished what I did through long years of study, some natural talent, and the inherent superiority of the arts arcane. You have...perhaps one of those three. But your natural talent is more for the wild swinging of axes then anything particularly useful."
Bartre nodded along with Erk's breakdown, "Okay, so how do I make that win?"
The mage blinked, "I...you...um...what? You don't, Bartre. You don't."
"So I have to lose to win? Or some thinky tacticy thing like that?"
"...with every word that comes out of your mouth, my headache gets worse." Erk sighed, "Look, Snowe's weakness is being fired at by rune cannons. Apparently makes his arm useless or something. Just paint the words rune cannon on your axe and the rest should take care of itself."
"Hey, thanks! You're a real pal, you know that?"
"Just go away."
- - -
Erk played a video of the match for the fourth time, watching Snowe's arm somehow go limp as soon as Bartre pulled his axe out. He didn't bother watching the next five minutes of footage, as it contained nothing but Snowe running around like a madman trying to stay away from the axe wielding brute that was chasing him. Instead, he rewound the tape to the very moment where Snowe's arm lost all function, watching it again and again, trying to figure out one simple thing.
"How in Elimine's name did that actually WORK!?"